One Q, Two Q, Old Q, New Q
by Mrs.Stockholm
Summary: It's a long and strange friendship, but it's a good one.-Hints of 00Q.
1. Chapter 1

No own, no money, yadda, yadda.

* * *

It wasn't that Boothroyd was a poor Quartermaster. He was competent, efficient, and well suited to the position. Still, he retired and that was that. Q'ute went off to America to work with the CIA and that was a shame. They'd had chemistry. But when Q, the true Q, his Q, left it wasn't quite the same.

The voice in his ear had none of the teasing familiarity. It was polite, professional, and friendly but that was so disappointing. There was no partially restrained cursing when he ran out in the line of fire. There was no hum of disapproval as he eyed a beautiful woman who might have useful information and a warm bed. It was a successful but empty mission right up until the end.

He sat in the embassy in Mumbai with blood dripping down his arm, absentmindedly playing with the remains of the watch Q had once made for him. He was being detained until he could sit through a debriefing and receive medical. The arm itself had gone rather numb a while back, more of a throbbing than any sharp or specific sensation. He supposed that was the pain medication the local handler had given him.

Light from the window glinted off the broken face of the watch. A bullet had smashed it to pieces, left little cuts in his hand and bent the metal in odd directions. The microphone in his ear clicked on and there was a distinct sigh.

"Even when I take a holiday you choose to break my things. Really 007, aren't there more efficient ways to execute your missions? Ones that don't destroy my inventions?"

His lips curled in a rueful smile. "Q. Why, I'd begun to miss you. Won't make that mistake again."

There was a huff, indignant but only in fun. "Good. I won't make the mistake of coming home early either."


	2. Chapter 2

For all his witty banter, Q makes little reference to his past. There is a certain level of professional conduct, most of which they ignore, and somewhere amoungst the list of rules and procedures that Bond disregards there is something about 'personal information' not being discussed during missions.

They are friends. Despite his numerous defenses and general distrust of people Bond has accepted Q as one of the few and he assumes the status is mutual.

Still, he knows little of the Quartermaster's life before or outside of MI6.

007's history is in his file. The file is electronic by now and that means it belongs to Q. Everything that uses wires or chips belongs to Q and Bond has no doubt that his past is already known. Really, though, that only sets him on edge all the more.

Q knows about him. Knowledge is power, that's a simple enough fact. Bond knows nothing about Q and that means he's the weak one. He could likely bench press Q's weight, he might well put himself in front of a bullet for Q. He does not choose his friends lightly and he is rather done with losing them. Still, his stomach churns at the imbalance between them.

He has to trust in his friend and it scares the shit out of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Moneypenny thinks it's funny.

It isn't and he doesn't really appreciate the smirk she tries to hide from him when they talk about it.

He's never had this problem before. It's all very simple usually. There's a distinct feeling of interest and then tension and witty foreplay. He smiles or she quirks a brow and that's that.

Now there's interest, obvious and familiar, but as he tries to move on to foreplay his words fall on deaf ears. The warm spark in his chest meets no twin. He fumbles instead and while he enjoys the wit it would be more enjoyable if there were some recognition of his attempt.

Is it obliviousness? Is it willful ignorance? A refusal to acknowledge? He does not know and it feels like swimming in strange waters.

There is banter but never flirtatious. The only tension between them is his own, a frustration that he cannot see inside that pretty head and understand the workings of that brilliant mind.

And all the while, as he struggles and fails to find the results that he seeks, Moneypenny smirks.


	4. Chapter 4

Q knows every scar. There are many and not all of them have stories that James is willing to tell him. But he knows the scars nonetheless.

There's the bullet wound of course. It's ghastly and disturbing and it's so strange to think James nearly died before they even met. He has nearly died a hundred times since.

There is one on his wrist. It's a collection, actually, of three. This is from when James took on drug dealers in the Caribbean. He jokes about the crocodiles and chicken meat but Q only frowns and thinks to himself that these things aren't funny.

There's another scar on his left bicep that he got in the waters of Greece. He barely treated it, of course, and there was minor infection for awhile. The ones on his back healed better, left hardly a scratch.

The other marks on his back, well those are from just about everything, aren't they? Korea and glass shards from this explosion or that, shrapnel, woods, metal, a few whip marks. And these aren't the half of them. These are the ones that haven't been treated well enough, healed well enough to disappear.

Q sees them all, though, and it hurts.


End file.
